Page 25 of The Curse of Redwood
“Well… yeah.” My face flushed. “I thought you’d have, like, an ectoplasm spunk that maybe glowed a little or something.”
“Radioactive spunk?”
NowIwas the one laughing.
“Your giggle is precious,” Z said, cupping my cheek in his hand. His blue eyes looked more alive, less cold. As if my fire had seeped into him, taming his ice just like he’d tamed my flames.
“I don’t giggle. My laugh is manly.”
“If you say so, little dove.” He pressed a kiss to my head.
I’d never been fond of pet names, but hearing the endearment made my stomach flutter. He didn’t strike me as the type of man to use them so easily either. It felt special.
I hopped off the table and pulled my jeans back up. The candlestick I’d placed on the other table still burned. The flame was dimming. With Z with me, though, I didn’t fear the dark. I suspected he was the superior ghost in the mansion. If he was who I thought he was—Ezekiel Warren—then it made sense for the other ghosts to listen to him.
He was the owner, after all, a member of the original family.
“So, you never finished telling me how you got the Stephen King book,” I said, spotting it on the floor and picking it up.
“On Halloween, I always pay a visit to the local bookshop to add to my collection,” he answered. “I feel as though I know so much about the outside world, about your time, from the modern stories I read. But I will never be a part of your world, no matter how badly I wish for it to be so.”
“When were you born?” I casually asked.
“During the Civil War,” he answered, surprising me. “At the end of it, anyway.”
“Wow. So, you’re, like, Abraham Lincoln old.” It fit the information Ben and I had found about Ezekiel. “How old were you when you died?”
The humor fled from his eyes. “I will not discuss it, and I suggest you do not ask again.” His body appeared more transparent as he flashed over to the door and opened it. The control over his emotions was slipping. But which emotion? Anger? Sadness? “You should leave, Carter.”
My eyes felt heavy, so it was probably a good idea. I was brave enough to step inside Redwood Manor, but the thought of sleeping there creeped me out too much.
“Can I come back again tomorrow?” I asked, approaching the doorway where he waited for me.
Z’s shoulders tensed. “Even if I say no, you’ll still come here, will you not?”
“Probably.”
“I thought so.” He grabbed the candle off the table and stepped out into the hall, leaving the library in darkness as the light was taken from the room.
I hurried after him. A few turns later, we stepped into the open space of the entrance hall. I craned my neck as I looked up at the domed ceiling.
“Hey, that didn’t take us nearly as long as before,” I said, regarding him suspiciously.
The mischievous bastard smirked. “I took a shortcut.”
“Let me guess. You wanted me to take the scenic route earlier? Do you like confusing me?”
“What can I say? It amuses me.” That amusement reflected on his face, if only for a moment, then he grew serious again. “I warned you to stay away from Redwood, yet you’ve shown your inability to do so. Your curiosity will only bring you trouble, Carter. There have been other curious minds like yours over the years. They’ve come and gone, but all left with a piece of Redwood. This place seeps into you. Never lets you go.”
Could he be referring to Charlie Michaels, the man who’d researched the mansion and wrote records of all who’d resided there?
“I’m too involved now,” I said, my voice shaking a little. “This place already has a hold on me.”
Because you’re here.
“That’s what worries me.” Z touched my neck, his eyes searching mine.
“Is Redwood really cursed?”
